


This Shame All Mine

by KevehKins



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5279426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KevehKins/pseuds/KevehKins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Failed electrocutions, witticisms, personal revelations and realisations. A man can learn a lot about himself conducting an interrogation. </p><p>Warnings: Swearing and mild violence. Arguably cracky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. O Presumptuous Not-Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All characters and settings in this piece are based upon and are the property of Square Enix unless otherwise stated. No profit has been made from this piece of fiction.

Reno took another swig of his beer, all the while eyeing up his target over the rim of the scummy glass. It tasted like the bar smelled, stale and pungent.

Or shit.

"Yeah, definitely shit." He muttered, setting the glass down on the table and observing the few little bubbles that still floated to the head of the murky brown liquid. His lips pulled apart into a thin grimace and he shook his head and turned back to observe the rest of the pub, momentarily glancing at his target, seated at the centre table. He himself sat at the middle of a long table nearest the door, parallel to his target's position. The bar filled most of the left side of the room, a grey haired woman with wizened, wrinkled skin bustled about behind the countertop, pouring drinks and shouting to some person unseen beyond the paint-flecked kitchen door. A few more tables were scattered around the right hand side of the room, all bathed in the dim blue glow of a large television, set into the wall in the corner opposite him. One or two drunkards slumped across the chipboard tabletops, caught somewhere between consciousness and the coma of the demon drink. He turned back to his objective, watching his target. The card game had paused, all eyes now facing towards the grey-haired man as he regaled them with some tale.

"Well…" The man said, "Did not I look like a complete idiot standing there with my saw in hand, branches scattered about me and my mouth hanging open wide as the Crater?!" He touched his fingers against his brow and giving his head the slightest shake of exasperation. The listeners chuckled and Reno noted how the man's lips twitched in the most minuscule way into a pleased smile.

"And from that day to this, each and every time I visit Mideel the locals give me such looks that I feel about as a welcome as a drop of water in the devil's whiskey!" His eyes crinkled with mirth. He grinned at his audience as they roared with laughter and slapped their hands against the table. Reno watched the man take a theatrical bow and hop down from his stool before he sauntered over to the bar, receiving a few appreciative slaps on the back as he went. Seeing his opportunity, Reno made to follow him, but just as he rose from his seat another man plopped down next to him and peered up at him with drunken, bloodshot eyes. His cheeks drooped down over lips set in a long, cartoon frown and his face played host to a messy, untrimmed beard. Reno glanced down at the rest of him and raised his eyebrows at the sight of an immaculately kept suit adorning the man's torso, with clean pressed black dress pants and fresh polished shoes on his feet. The whole ensemble had the effect of making the man appear like a well-dressed basset hound.

"Something wrong?" Reno asked, one eyebrow still quirked upwards.

The man looked him up and down, expression unchanging before he again settled his gaze upon Reno's face and with a low, slurred grumble spoke out.

"What, in the name of all that is holy, are you wearing boy?"

Reno furrowed his brow and looked down at his clothing. He wore a faded red zip-up hoody, stained and with a small hole in the left breast and a pair of baggy blue jeans, or at least what was left of them with the numerous tears along their length. He looked back to the man and shrugged. He hadn't thought it possible, but the man's frown grew even longer.

"You look like crap." He said. For a moment Reno said nothing, just stared down at the man until his lips curled into an amused smirk and a huffed laugh escaped him.

"It's the slums, old man." He said, flicking his hand out as though he spoke of the most obvious thing in the world. The man blinked once.

"So?"

Reno gave a derisive snort, "Who the hell looks nice in the slums?"

The old man took this as his turn to snort, "Well, me, for one. And look at everyone else in here." He said, waving his arm towards the other patrons. Maybe he just didn't know enough about fashion, but all in all they collectively struck Reno as a decent guide of what not to wear. Every individual wore a mash of colours and fabrics, bright reds and oranges and blues and browns, jackets that were too big, shirts that were too small. He turned back to the old man, a quizzical expression on his face. The old man's frown remained unchanged.

"They look nice, you moron." He growled. "You're traipsing around in stuff that's all stained and torn!"

Reno simply stared at him, wide-eyed and weakly muttered "What?"

"What….what…" The man replied, nodding his head, his voice despairing.

"Now you listen here boy, just because it's the slums doesn't mean you can waltz in here thinking you're above it all! Have a little respect, ya jerk! Jerk! Jerk! Jerk!" The man sobbed, prodding at Reno's chest with each repetition of the word. Then, without another word the old man swivelled on his stool and promptly threw himself down onto the table. Reno stared at his inanimate form, eyes wide and mouth opened in a small, surprised 'o'. An unpleasant, prickling sensation tingled through his stomach and the faintest hint of blushing warmth throbbed under his cheeks. He glanced around at the other patrons, none looked back. Indeed none appeared to notice the old man's tangent at all.

"Fuckin' drunks…" He murmured.

Before he could spare it any further thought, his storytelling target strolled by him and out the door. He reached for his drink, sank it in a single gulp, ignored the pungent after taste and without a word pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and followed after his objective.

He emerged into the muggy heat of Wall Market's dusty dirt streets. Neon lights coloured the town and innumerable characters filled the pathways, shouting to each other, hollering prices at passers by. A few people lumbered around supporting the near unconscious drunken forms of their compatriots and several scantily clad men and women alike stood at various corners, winking suggestively at any who would meet their eye. The sight of them brought a frown to his face, tempered by the return of that damned prickling guilt in his gut. He ignored it and glanced around for his target, catching a glimpse of his thick greying hair amidst the throngs of night time revellers. He pulled the hood further down over his face and set off after him, weaving his way through the crowds, always keeping a few bodies between him and his objective. He noted, despite himself, the general cleanliness of the masses, so contrasted to the destitution of their surroundings. The old man's reprimanding resounded through his head again. He shut it out as his target meandered into a ramshackle building made of wood and corrugated metal. A luminous yellow and green sign shone over the door, spelling out the word 'Inn' in intermittent flashes. He slunk in after him, silent and unnoticed by any. It had been muggy outside under the suffocating blanket of the Upper Plate, but in here it felt as though he stood inside a furnace. Heat enveloped his skin from the moment he crossed the threshold of the door. His target walked up the hallway in front of him. A quick glance to the desk at his right confirmed that no receptionist had seen him enter, for it was at present unmanned, and so he tiptoed up the hall, watching the grey haired man fish inside his pocket for a key.

With slow, deliberate and silent pace he reached around his back, skimming his fingers across the hem of the worn fabric of his jacket with the most feather-light of touches. He curled his fingers, hooking them under the hoody, and raised it up the stooped curve of his spine, feeling the cool sensation of the metal weapon concealed in his waistband spread through his fingertips. Edging his fingers just a little further apart, he caught the hilt of the weapon between the middle two and began dragging it up and out of its makeshift holster, movement seamless with the raising of his jacket. He tightened his grip as the weapon came free of his jeans, wrapping all his fingers around the hilt before bringing his arm back around. His hoody fell back into place with a soft rustle.

He approached the man, one careful footstep after the other, brushing the ball of each foot lightly on the floor before pressing it to the wood. His target stood oblivious, all of two feet ahead of him. With a swoop of his arm he swung his nightstick, extending it to its full size with a satisfying series of clicks, and with a low hum that signalled the surge of electricity at the weapon's tip, placed it at the small of the man's back.

Nothing happened.

Reno furrowed his brow, shifting between looking down at where the electrified nightstick touched the man's torso, and looking up at the rest of the man, seeking some sort of reaction, but the man simply continued fishing around for his key, unaware even of the sensation of the nightstick pressing into his back.

What ever was happening, electrocution wasn't.

Ignoring the apprehension in his gut, Reno reared back the nightstick and struck the back of the man's head with an almighty thwack. The man's hands shot to cradle his battered skull, but he did not crumple to the floor as Reno expected. Instead, a period of complete and total silence followed, broken only by the pained hiss from his target as he gingerly touched the rising lump on his head. Reno stood frozen, with his weapon-wielding arm arced across his chest, staring wide eyed at the hunched form of his victim. He noticed then the brown and gold trimmed bangle on the man's wrist, in which there sat nestled two materia, a green and a blue, connected by a dual-slot. It dawned on him why his electric shock proved so woefully ineffective. An inhalation of breath from his target interrupted his deductions, as at last the man spoke.

"Ahhhhh…fuck!" He hissed in a pained whisper. He turned to face Reno, peering at him through wincing eyes.

"What the fuck did you do that for!?"

Reno stared at him; eyes still wide as the man looked him up and down, all the while massaging the back of his head. He paused, brow furrowing in confusion and spoke again.

"And what the fuck are you wearing?"

Without a word, Reno swung his arm back in the opposite direction, driving the tip of the nightstick into the man's temple and sending him crashing to the floor, unconscious. He took a breath and glanced over his shoulder.

"The hell is the owner?" He muttered before shaking his head and turning back to the prone form of his victim. With a heavy sigh he retracted the nightstick and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans once more. He stooped down, lifting the inanimate body from the floor and heaved him onto his shoulder with a grunt. He turned, careful not to knock the man's head against the wall and with brisk footfalls exited the inn, submerging himself into the hordes of Wall Market's populace.


	2. These Unfamiliar Familiars

Reno glanced over his shoulder at his partner, barely visible in the shadows cast by the single light bulb dangling above the table. Rude did not look at him, eyes fixed on the figure behind Reno. The target was sat in the chair opposite him, with his torso slumped flat across the dented metal table. Reno observed the angry lump on the back of the man's skull. Covered in hair as it was, its overall appearance struck him as akin to a furry, grey hill in the middle of a grassy field. A grey grassy field, but a grassy field nevertheless. He shifted his legs up, pressing the balls of his feet against the table-edge and pushing against it, swinging lightly in his chair. He cast his gaze upwards. The roof was coated in numerous cobwebs, all dangling from the chain link fencing fixed under the thin wooden boards. He picked one out, and blew upwards with a soft breath, watching it sway to and fro. His gaze shifted to look around the dingy room. It was little more than a concrete block with a table in it, and a lot of bloodstains, he noted, glancing over at the dirty brown markings on the wall to his left. It smelled funky too, the dustiness of a shed made ever more pungent by the extreme muggy heat that enveloped it from outside.

"Safe house my pale ass." He muttered as he dropped his feet from the table and slumped forward, resting his chin on his crossed arms. He received no response from Rude, and so spoke again.

"Wake the fuck up already." He said, tightening his mouth into the glum grimace of boredom.

"I've been awake for ages."

Reno jumped, a small one, but enough for the supposedly sleeping man in front of him to feel the movement of the table. The man chuckled, lifting his head off the metal surface and grinned at him.

"Gave you a bit of a fright, did I?" He asked. Reno only frowned, pushing himself off the table he mimicked the man's movement, sitting back in his chair as though they were conversing in a coffee shop. He swung one arm over the back of the chair; the other remained on the table, finger tapping the metal in a slow rhythm. He stared at the man, expression blank. His captive continued grinning back at him, raising his brow as if to ask 'Well?'

"How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to know you have a pale ass." The man replied.

"Funny." Reno replied. He looked over his shoulder at Rude, who now stood upright, arms still crossed. The bald man nodded and stepped towards the table, coming to a stop next to Reno. Their captive gave him a pleasant smile and a nod, he received no response.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here?" Reno began. The man shrugged.

"Not really."

Reno quirked an eyebrow, surprised.

"Blue suits, dark room, lump on the back of my head, Turk work if ever I've seen it." He explained. "Oh yeah, I know who you are son, and if you thought about it you'd have known that I'd know, don't look so fuckin' surprised." He said, his tone reminiscent of a teacher reprimanding a cheeky student. He raised his cuffed hands to his neck, and touched his fingers to the thick collar adorning it.

"I am wondering what this is." He said.

"All in good time." Reno replied, still tapping his finger against the table. "First, we have to ask you a few questions."

"Questions." The man repeated with a nod. Reno ignored it.

"Questions. Nothing too major, just the routine stuff, protocol-"

"Protocol." The man repeated again. A small frown crept onto Reno's face, but he gave the interruption no further acknowledgement.

"Name?" He asked.

"Damien." The man replied, lips curved into a small smile.

"Damien?" Reno said, unable to mask the condescension in his tone.

"Damien." The man reaffirmed.

A mirthless laugh escaped the redhead. He leaned forward in his chair, folding his arms on the tabletop and with a pleasant smile to match the expression of his captive, spoke again.

"I don't think your name is Damien."

"You don't think, full stop."

Reno's face twisted into a scowl. He glared at the man across the table, beside him Rude let out a short sigh. 'Damien' simply continued to smile, never breaking eye contact with him.

"The hell does that mean?"

"I'd ask what you think it means but there'd be no point in that now, would there?" The man replied with a chuckle. Reno continued to scowl at him. 'Damien' raised his hands and placed them on the table, he set about twiddling his thumbs, gaze now hopping from Reno to his partner and back again, dropping the smile from his face with a theatrical expression of concern.

"Ah now, don't look so upset."

"Answer my damn question." Reno snarled.

"Think about it." 'Damien' retorted, twisting his cuffed hands into a shrugging gesture. Reno made to rise from his seat, teeth bared in an angered grimace. 'Damien' sat back in his chair, hands raised to his chest, palms outward.

"Would you sit down? I'm only messing with ya, geez!"

Reno turned his head, shifting his glare toward his silent partner. Rude gave him a sideways glance and a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Reno sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head. The unpleasant prickling in his stomach returned. He ignored it and lowered himself back into his seat. The man opposite him leaned forward, tilting his arms upwards, elbows resting on the table, he brought his hands level with his chin and again twisted them into that shrugging gesture.

"Seriously though, think about it. How would I not know you were Turks? With my family? With their line of work? With who they work for and who he works for? And all of a sudden I end up in a concrete block, with cuffed hands and a lump on the back of my head and men in suits asking me questions they already know the answers to?" He finished. Reno lowered his gaze to the table, picking out a tiny imperfection on the metal surface; he pressed his finger onto it, sliding the raised fragment between nail and flesh, savouring the simultaneous satisfaction and frustration of the sensation the little piece brought to his finger coupled with his inability to break it away from the tabletop. He looked his captive in the eye again.

"So you know about our work with the Don?"

'Damien' sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes. I know about your work with the Don. Anyone who's ever lived in the slums and has a damn clue knows who the Don works with and for, never mind me and my connections to him."

Reno's eyes widened, surprised. Another frustrated sigh escaped his captive.

"What? You think the people living in the slums don't know who to stay away from? Who not to mess with? Are we supposed to be stupid or something?" He snapped.

"I…I thought…" Reno stammered.

"Thought my ass! Plate dwellers, all the fucking same." The captive muttered, closing his eyes and pressing his thumbs against them. He lowered them and opened his eyes. "That get-up you were wearing, before ya clubbed me over the head, wouldn't take a genius to figure out you weren't from round the slums wearing those rags."

'Damien' furrowed his brow, shifting in his seat from left to right, craning his neck and looking him up and down.

"Mind, you still look like shit now." He murmured, eyeing him up all the while, like a collector inspecting some artefact. Reno bolted forward in his seat, his captive slumped back into his own with a cackle, just avoiding a head on collision with his captor's forehead.

"The hell does everyone keep bringing that up?" He spat, angered. Behind him, Rude took a step forward.

"Reno…" He began, only to be interrupted by the redhead raising a hand in dismissal.

"Because you dressed like shit", came the captive's response. Reno tightened his lip and took a long, steadying breath.

"Yeah…I got that…I meant–"

"I know what you meant." The grey haired man interrupted, "But walking around dressed like you were on a Saturday night? In Wall Market? And looking like as much of an outsider as you do? You were asking for some grief."

Reno's expression morphed into one of utter puzzlement. Another sigh from 'Damien', his head lowered.

"Right." He began, "What do people normally do on a Saturday evening? After a long week of working their asses off trying to scrape a living?"

Reno said nothing, knowing the man would continue on and because, reluctant as he was to admit it, he didn't want to leave himself open to another of his captive's oh so delicate remarks.

"They relax, right? And that means going out for a night on the town, because let's be frank, there's fuck all else to do down here and booze is cheap. And what do people do when they go out? You of all people should know this, Plate Dweller."

Reno sat back in his chair, mouth agape as realisation swept through him, almost drowning out that annoying prickling sensation in his gut. Almost.

"They dress up." He muttered, staring through the man opposite him, eyes wide. "They dress better."

The grey haired man pointed both fingers at him. "Bingo."

"But…it's the slums…" The redhead muttered, voice almost pleading, searching for some sort of respite to dull the impact of his mistake. His captive frowned.

"So?"

"So…they can't afford…" He trailed off as the man opposite him dropped his head to the table, forehead pressed to dented steel. A moment of silence passed, until at last the man uttered a muffled complaint.

"Give me fuckin' strength." He raised his head again, locking eyes with the sheepish Turk. "Didn't you notice how clean everyone was?"

"…I noticed a lot of colours."

The man laughed, a single amused huff followed by a knowing smirk.

"Didn't say they dressed fashionably, now did I? But dress well, dress well they do. They don't have everything, but the people of the Slums have their own culture, their own norms. They'll scrape together an outfit out of ten different things, might be the ugliest Frankenstein monster of an outfit you'll ever see, but they'll keep it clean and it makes them feel damn good. They have self-respect…something you Plate dwellers don't seem to get." He finished, not even trying to mask the disdain in his voice.

A pronounced, uncomfortable silence filled the ramshackle room. Reno stared down at the table, finger returning to pick at that little lump on the metal, digesting the barrage of information and insults. Their captive sat back in his chair, satisfied in making his point. At last the quiet broke with a single cough from the man standing to his left.

"Can we get back to what we're doing here?" Rude asked, though Reno knew the tone well enough to take it as a direction, not a question. Their captive either did not share this understanding of Rude's tone, or chose to ignore it. He leaned forward, adopting an exaggerated apologetic expression and responded, his voice growing louder with each expletive.

"Oh I'm sorry Lurch. How rude of me to take up your precious time, making you sit through all that, messing up your schedule. I forgot myself, y'know, after being clubbed over the fucking head, twice, and dragged from my fucking room to a fucking shack to talk to you two fucking morons." He finished, throwing himself back in his seat once again. "Fuck!"

"Just co-operate with us and we can get this over with sooner." Rude replied, calm and collected.

The man across from him rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Fine. Whaddya want?"

Reno glanced over at Rude and received another little nod from his partner. He turned back to face his target.

"What'd you say your name was again?" He asked.

"Eugene."

"Eugene?" Reno replied, feigning a surprised tone.

"Eugene." The man nodded.

"I thought you said your name was Damien?"

The man's head hit the table again.

"So we're back to this are we? You asking me questions you already know the answer to?"

Reno pressed his finger harder into the little lump on the tabletop, deliberating over his next move.

"If you're gonna lie, at least be consistent." He said. 'Eugene' raised his head from the table before responding. He looked tired, dark lines beginning to form under his eyes, eyelids drooping just a little bit.

"I'm not in the business of consistency."

A single red brow crawled upwards.

"You're a storyteller." Reno replied.

"Sometimes yeah." The man affirmed. "So?"

"So your stories would need to be consistent, right?"

The man shook his head. "Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative." He spoke like a student reciting a long ago learned line of poetry, the one line he could still recall with perfect clarity.

Reno said nothing, only staring at his captive.

"Well it's making you wonder, isn't it? Me being inconsistent?"

The redhead laughed, a genuine one this time, tinged with mirth, unable to help himself.

"You're a real character."

"Well I have to be." He replied.

"Just tell us your name, please." Rude interrupted before Reno could respond. The man acquiesced at last.

"Knotch, my name is Knotch. I'm forty years old, prematurely grey hair, no fixed address. Family, two half brothers, Scotch and Kotch, both of whom work for the lovely Don, mother deceased, never knew my father." He summarised, shooting Rude an 'Is that enough for you?' look. Reno chuckled.

"Knotch, Scotch and Kotch." He recited. "Interesting names."

"My mother was an interesting woman." Came Knotch's immediate reply. Reno opened his mouth to respond, prompting another interrupting cough from Rude. He closed it again as his partner stepped closer to the table and reached into his jacket's inner pocket, pulling out a large brown envelope.

"We need you to do a job for us."


	3. A Wisecracker, a less wise cracker and a relative mute walk into a safehouse...

"We need you to do a job for us." Rude said.

"A job for you." Knotch repeated, head bobbing up and down.

"Yes. A job for us." Rude replied, his tone terse. He threw the envelope onto the table, in front of Reno. The redhead pulled himself out of his slouch, reluctantly ceasing his picking at that little raised lump of metal. He tore open the envelope. He never quite mastered the knack of opening sealed letters in a neat and orderly fashion. He never wanted to in truth, the sound of tearing paper made his ears tingle in delight. He extracted several photographs from the remnants of the envelope, and, with a cursory glance and a flick of his wrist, sent them sliding across the table where they skidded to a halt in front of Knotch. Reno watched his grey brows furrow, confused.

"What kind o' haircut do ya call that?" He muttered to himself, peering down at the photo of the blonde haired mercenary. "Fuck sake, you could attract lightning with those spikes."

"His name's Cloud Strife." Said Reno. "A mercenary for hire, recently started working for the eco-terrorist group Avalanche. Claims to be an ex-SOLDIER, First Class."

Knotch's head shot back up to gawk at Reno, his expression twisting into a look of complete incredulity.

"I'm not doing any job that involves pissing off a SOLDIER. Do you think I'm a fuckin' lunatic?"

"Relax, you aren't dealing with him, not directly at least. We need him out of the picture, and we think that this woman here…" He pointed to the photo of a brown eyed, pretty yet fierce looking brunette. "…is the key to doing that."

Reno arranged the photos in front of Knotch so that the photo of the brunette and one of a frightening man with a gun-arm sat to Knotch's left, and the photos of the spiky-haired SOLDIER and another, pale skinned brunette with bright green eyes sat to his right. In the middle and placed just above the rest of the photos lay a picture of Knotch's former employer, Don Corneo.

"Okay…" Reno began; pointing to the pictures on Knotch's left. "This scary looking guy right here? That's Barret Wallace, leader of the terrorists. And the girl is Tifa Lockhart, proprietor of a bar in Sector 7, a bar that doubles as Avalanche's base of operations." He glanced up at Knotch, seeking affirmation that he followed thus far. The man gave a brief nod and, to Reno's surprise, remained silent, lips set in a pensive frown.

"Now, obviously these guys existing aren't in the best interests of the public, or the Shinra Corporation. So, we're planning to launch an attack on the terrorist hideout to stamp them out, once and for all. But…" Reno said, with the raising of a finger which he then placed on the ex-SOLDIER's photo with a flourish. "We need to ensure he isn't present at the time of the attack."

Knotch's frown twisted into a smirk.

"Afraid of the big bad SOLDIER are ya?"

Reno didn't look up from the photo as he replied.

"Could ask you the same question." A tingle of satisfaction rippled through Reno as he felt the mood of his captive change. No sarcastic quips this time. This was better; the balance of power starting to shift in their favour.

"But no. In actuality this man is of particular interest to the company. He fights like a SOLDIER, looks like a SOLDIER, but…he never was one, despite what he claims. As you can imagine, such a case would greatly concern my superiors and so we don't want to get rid of him just yet."

"You mean you don't want him there to fight you, son." Knotch snapped. Reno shrugged.

"Well, it's certainly beneficial for us that we won't have to fight him during the attack. But the company does want him alive. Now, at the moment, he's travelling with this girl here." He pointed to the picture adjacent to the SOLDIER's, the green eyed woman. "But he's looking to make his way back to the Avalanche base, by tomorrow according to our Intel. Which is unfortunate for us as tomorrow is when we plan to launch our attack."

Reno took the photo of the Lockhart girl in his hand, and flicked it around so that the photo faced Knotch, grasping it between his index and middle finger. In his other hand he did the same with the photo of the Don.

"This is where this lovely looking lady, this fat piece of shit, and your snarky ass come in." He fanned each of the photos as he referred to them. "This Lockhart chick is an old friend of our not quite ex-SOLDIER, and we have it on good authority that he's very protective of her. Promises tender looks and all that crap. Now, as I'm sure you know –"

"The Don's looking for a wife." Knotch interrupted, sounding bored now. "And you want me to get her to the Don's place to draw away pinhead here?" He nodded at Cloud's photo.

"Essentially, yes. We want you to go to the bar that Lockhart runs, and get her and Wallace interested in the Don. Say he's got a spy. That he's looking to sell Shinra secrets, that he's got Strife, we don't care. Just make sure she heads to Wall Market so Strife follows suit. Odds on she'll volunteer to go under the guise of one of the Don's would-be brides. We'll arrange transportation for her so we can ensure Strife finds out."

"You're trying to kill the Don too, then." Knotch stated in a matter of fact tone, straining to scratch his chin with his cuffed hands. A moment of silence passed in which Reno scrutinised the man opposite him. It didn't surprise him that Knotch guessed their intentions with the Don, but his nonchalance at the prospect caught him off guard.

"Why do you say that?" He asked, at last. Knotch rolled his eyes again.

"You Turk's, you really think nobody knows your secrets." He grumbled, before speaking to Reno, voice clear this time. "You're trying to get an ex-SOLDIER out of the way for your mission, you could send him damn well anywhere, yet you pick the Don's place. And send this SOLDIER's sweetheart, who you've said he's very protective of, into the Don's place to pose as a potential bride to the biggest sleaze in the Slums. And you're asking me why I say you want him killed?"

Reno's lip pulled into another grimace as he tried to mask the sheepishness that crept through him. Though his partner remained silent, he rather felt that Rude was experiencing a similar sensation. This entire debacle wasn't going the way it was supposed to. Knotch seemed to cut them off at every pass.

But they still had one more card up their sleeves…or rather around his neck. Although he couldn't quite dismiss the dread that Knotch would have a response for that too. Still, if they could throw him off his groove, make him comfortable, let him have control of the conversation just a little bit longer, then maybe the shock of their final revelation would be enough to make him more compliant.

Time for a different approach.

He took a breath, raising one hand in a sign of appeasement to the man opposite him.

"You're right, you're right. That was a stupid question."

"Really? Was it?" Knotch snapped, sarcasm all but leaping from his tongue.

"You're a little smarter than what we're used to dealing with. A little more in the know."

"You mean I'm not afraid of you." Said Knotch, smirking. Reno raised both hands this time.

"You caught me…us, I should say. Yes…the Don needs to be eliminated. He's become…untrustworthy. With Strife, we see an opportunity to destroy some problematic nests, but keep the eggs we need intact, so to speak." The line was as cheesy, secret-agent talkie as Reno could muster and it was with some relief that he watched Knotch again roll his eyes.

"Fuckin' eggs he says…Thinks he's fuckin' Detective Joe." Knotch muttered. Reno pulled his best embarrassed face but stayed silent.

"You really think I'm going to do what a couple o' numbskulls like you tell me to do? You guys haven't got a clue." Knotch said, a dismissive arrogance permeating his tone. Exactly what Reno needed from him; still, he continued feigning defensiveness. He folded his arms across his chest and sat back in his chair, trying to contain the grin of triumph as he delivered his next line in their little power game.

"Guess this hasn't really gone liked I'd hoped it would."

The remark earned him a wide-eyed look of condescension from the grey haired captive.

"Do you reckon so?" His sarcasm practically bounced off the walls and back to his tongue. Rude pushed his glasses closer to his face, a little involuntary motion that only Reno and their boss knew to be a sign of the silent man feeling flustered. He needed to act now, and wrest the control of the conversation from their captive for good. He leaned forward again, folding his arms in front of him on the table, shifting his weight onto them, and morphed his expression into one of the utmost sincerity.

"But I think you're still gonna do what we say."

Knotch sneered, unimpressed.

"Am I now? And what makes you so sure? Can't be your expert coercion and intimidation, that's for sure."

Reno smiled and pointed at the collar enveloping Knotch's neck. They grey haired man reacted only with a confused frown at first, until their came a moment so satisfying Reno rather felt he'd achieved Nirvana, as realisation and, dare he believe it, a hint of anxiety trickled onto Knotch's face, progressing downwards from widening eyes to his mouth contorting into a small, stunned 'O'. Reno sat back again, grinning from ear to ear.

"Rude, explain to Knotch here what exactly that collar is."

Rude cleared his throat.

"That, Reno, is an explosive collar, packed with a small plastic explosive, enough to take a man's head clean off his shoulders." He spoke.

Reno relished the utter anxiety that now gripped their captive, watching with sadistic glee as the man's weather beaten, tanned skin paled and he fidgeted just a little in his seat. The eyes told the bulk of the story though, laden with fear, the man's gaze darting around the room, looking for anything, desperately seeking something that wasn't the smug expressions of his captors.

Oh this was sweet. All the taunting and being outwitted and playing the role of the defeated, all of it was worth it just to see the man's expression as his experienced self-assurance crumbled around him.

"So what's it gonna be Knotch? Do as we say or we'll have to kill you. And I think neither of us wants that." Reno said. Knotch's eyes stopped dead in their sockets, gaze fixed upon him as the anxious expression on the man's face slowly gave way to a smile. Reno frowned.

_Oh no._

"What are you smiling about?"

Knotch laughed.

"You don't want that…" He said, another laugh following the statement. "You don't want that…" He repeated. "Of course! Hah hah hah! You don't want to kill me!" He slapped his cuffed hands palm-first down on the table, beaming all the while. He looked like he could radiate fucking sunshine from every orifice, Reno thought sourly. This was not good, whatever the man had planned. Knotch sat back in his chair, palms still pressed to the tabletop, and continued to smile the most sickening, triumphant, shit-faced smile that Reno ever witnessed.

"Go ahead there cue-ball." Knotch spoke to Rude. "Pull out your detonator or whatever and blow my head off."

Rude gave an agitated grunt, looking over to Reno, who returned a look of equal perplexity. The redhead turned back to face Knotch.

"You want us to…blow your head off?"

Knotch nodded, still grinning. Reno's expression shifted into one of sheer incredulity.

"But…that doesn't make any sense…"

"Exactly." Knotch replied.

Reno's brow furrowed.

"..What?"

"It doesn't make any sense for you to kill me! You aren't going to. You've got nobody else who can do this for you, can't do it yourselves, you've got an attack to focus on, can't get one of Corneo's guys, they're way too close to the Don. I'm the only guy you've got. You blow my head off, and you have to risk taking on this SOLDIER guy, and the Don…keeps being untrustworthy, for a while." The grin never left that weather-beaten face for the entirety of his explanation. Reno just gawked at him. Rude shifted about, nervous and uncomfortable.

"Great…" Rude muttered. "Just great."

Reno shot his partner a scowl.

"Well, I take it I'm free to go, boys?" Knotch asked in a pleasant tone.

"You get out of that chair and I'll blow your damn head up anyway, no questions asked." Reno growled, a threat he very much meant.

"Oh I know you Turk folk enjoy your killing, almost as much as you like presuming things about people…" The man replied, directing a knowing look at Reno, whose frown grew even more prominent. "So, I think it'd be nice for all involved here boys if we could come to an agreeme – "

"We're not negotiating." Rude interrupted. Knotch appraised him, eyebrows raised.

"I don't think you have much choice sunshine. And dismissing me before you even hear my requests? That's just…rude." He said with a snicker.

Reno ground his teeth together. Closing his eyes he pressed two fingers to his right temple, massaging it in a slow, circular pattern.

"What do you want?" He forced out.

"First off, I want my Adamantite bangle back, with the materia." He said, holding up his arm and nodding at his wrist, bare but for the handcuff ensnaring it.

"And?" Reno asked, steeling himself for some ludicrous demand.

"And…I want a golden Chocobo."

Reno's eyelids may as well have been spring loaded with how quick they shot open. Knotch smiled.

"What…pray tell, is a golden Chocobo?" Reno asked, reluctant though he was to hear the answer. "And don't say a big bird that's gold."

Knotch chuckled. "A very rare breed of Chocobo, said to be capable of crossing any terrain, land or ocean. They're extremely difficult to breed, very few in existence, and most of them owned by you fine employers. Not being put to much use though, poor things." He clucked his tongue.

"Shinra has gold Chocobos?" The redhead asked, disbelief evident in his voice. Knotch nodded irritably.

"Course they do. All the shit your company does and you're surprised about a flippin' Chocobo? Most of the wastelands are crawling with genetic freaks of nature your people throw out. You guys don't do a great job of covering tracks from anyone who's more than little inquisitive…or as wise in the ways of the world as me." He quipped with an aggrandising little point of his thumbs towards himself. "Shinra used to breed Chocobos for military purposes, including gold ones. But like I said, they're hard to breed and mako powered vehicles were easy to make, they never saw deployment. But a little diggin' and it isn't hard to find information on them. Monopoly breeds laziness, and Shinra, they have monopoly over damn near everything. They don't hide shit well, because nobody looks. Why would they?"

Reno continued to massage his temple, narrowing his eyes into a scrutinising glare. He licked his tongue along the back of his teeth, placing it between his canines and biting down just hard enough for it hurt a little bit.

"Call the boss." At last he spoke, eyes never leaving the man across the table, but his statement directed at the man to his left. He felt Rude's confused gaze, radiating out from behind those sunglasses.

"Call the boss." He repeated. "I want to see if he's bullshitting us."

A moment passed wherein Rude stared at his partner, until, with a low sigh he walked towards the door, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a phone before disappearing through the frame and shutting himself out of the shack.

Knotch kept smiling.

_Shithead_ , Reno thought.


	4. O Presumptuous Me and Ye

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and sat himself atop the bonnet of his car, a discreet little hatchback. He surveyed the landscape ahead of him, though in all truth there was little to see. Miles and miles of hardened, yellowing dirt and lifeless crags were all that lay between Midgar and Kalm.

"One more day and it's gonna look worse than this…" He murmured to himself with a heavy sigh. A dull thud behind him signalled the arrival of his former captive. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder and around the roof of the car, watching the grey haired man emerge through the heavy steel gate, stooped to one side as he fished in his pocket for some object. His hair sat perfect atop his head, no outward markings of injury adorned his body, save for the red tinge of the skin by his eye, where nightstick met skull. He sat himself next to the Turk, as casually as though he were sitting on a park bench after a stroll. Reno watched him pull a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, extract a single white stick from the box, place it in his mouth and place the packet back, shifting his weight from side to side as he squeezed the box into the tightened confines of his pocket. The Turk raised a hand in questioning gesture, but the man ignored him, busying himself with pulling a lighter from that same pocket and holding it just below the tip of his cigarette. Reno frowned, hand still extended.

"Well?"

Knotch paused, thumb hovering just above the button to ignite the lighter, the other hand shielding the cigarette from a non-existent wind, figure hunched to add more unnecessary protection to his little nicotine fountain. His eyes shifted in their sockets to peer at Reno over a weathered brow.

"Well what?" He asked, his voice guttural, speaking from the back of his throat so as not to dislodge the cigarette between his lips. Reno scowled and Knotch rolled his eyes in response, returning to lighting his cigarette. He took a long drag and exhaled, a small, satisfied smile creeping onto his face.

"It's done." He said. "Wasn't easy, that Wallace guy's a scary son of a bitch, damn near blew my head off when I mentioned Corneo's name. The woman bought into it though, she'll be heading for the Don's soon enough, you just need to get her there with that carriage and sort out that SOLDIER kid."

A moment passed in which the Turk scrutinised the man's face. At last he nodded his assent and taking his hand out of his pocket he reached toward Knotch's neck. The man recoiled. Reno raised an eyebrow, and inclined his head towards the key pressed between the fingers of his extended arm. The smoker, expression wary still, acquiesced, settling back into place as Reno slid the key into a tiny slot on the collar covering the man's throat. He twisted it. A beep followed, signalling the deactivation of the explosive. He twisted it the other way and with a small ping the collar came loose and he pulled it from the man's neck before pushing himself off the bonnet and trudged around to the back of the car. He opened the door and threw the collar inside, then reached for the materia-loaded bangle resting beside the belt buckles. Slamming the door shut behind him he walked back to the car's front and handed Knotch the bangle before he resumed his position atop the hood. Holding the cigarette between his lips, the man examined the accessory, popping the materia out of their slots with a distinct 'clack' followed by another as he pressed them back into place with his thumb. Satisfied, he slid the bangle onto his wrist.

"Ya didn't have to leave that on, y'know." Knotch muttered, taking another drag of his cigarette. Reno shrugged.

"Insurance. Make sure you didn't go running off to warn the Don."

A snort escaped the man beside him at the remark, followed by a muttered dismissal of the idea.

"No?" Reno asked, a little surprised. "Even with your two brothers working for him?"

Knotch shook his head; lifting his hand to take the cigarette from his mouth he tapped it twice, spilling ash on the yellowed ground.

"No relationship with them. Scotch is a moron who thinks he's a master hitman. Couldn't shoot shit out of his own ass, if you ask me. Never met Kotch, only found out about him at my mother's deathbed."

A brief quiet followed, broken by another question that occurred to the Turk.

"How'd you get involved with Corneo anyway?"

Knotch gave a low, mirthless chuckle at this, taking another puff of his cigarette before replying.

"Born into it, family business, you might say. My mother was one of his workers…a Luca Street Lady, as they used to call them. S'pose it was just a hazard of the job that she'd get pregnant. She had me when she was very young, Scotch some twenty years later, Kotch not too long after that, I think. All different fathers, mine was a man called Harte. He's got a legitimate son a bit younger than me, he's done alright for himself I hear."

He grinned at Reno, whose eyes widened in realisation.

"The deputy Mayor?"

Knotch grinned, though it didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Thought you'd enjoy that little easter egg."

He took another drag of his cigarette.

"I was doing work for the Don from the moment I could walk. You had to have your wits about you, let me tell ya. Kid or not, rival gangs'd shoot ya dead if you weren't fast enough. Was all about talking your way out of trouble and talking another sucker into it. Coercion and all that. Probably why I'm such a fine conversationalist nowadays, as I'm sure you'll agree." He said, with a more genuine smile.

"Your mother didn't try to protect you?" Reno asked, without malice. Another humourless laugh from Knotch followed.

"What was she going to do? Say no to him? He'd have just killed her, and me. A new whore isn't hard to come by in Wall Market." He scratched his chin, looking out at the wastes ahead. "She always had self-respect though, my mother, always took pride in keeping a clean house. Funny woman she was too."

"She teach you all those little jokes of yours?" Reno quipped, corners of his mouth twisting into a slight smile.

"Ah now, those are all original." Knotch retorted. "You did meet some real characters in that line of work though, met even more when I got out and started seeing the world and its people."

"Good for stories." Said Reno. Knotch quirked his head to the left in a lazy sign of agreement.

"I'm not really a storyteller, y'know. The storytelling was always more of an aside to pick up a bit of Gil at pubs. Not to say I don't enjoy it, o' course. But I'm more of a traveller, myself. Stories just arise from that, I suppose. The world's a mysterious old place, things to discover, drinks to be drank, men in suits to be kidnapped by, you know yourself. "

Reno chuckled.

"I do wonder though, what Wall Market will be like without the Don." Knotch said before taking another puff of his rapidly shrinking cigarette.

"Probably just be someone else to take his place, keep it a shithole." Reno replied, despondent. Knotch laughed, a hollow one mixed with a light, wheezing cough.

"That's about what I'd expect from a Plate dweller like you, heaven forbid the folks living down there might try and take advantage and improve the situation."

Reno felt another prickle in his stomach, the same one from before, the one that always arose when he was challenged about the Slums, about himself. He wasn't really sure what drove him to say what he said next, something in him just spurred it to the tip of his tongue.

"I was born in the Slums, y'know."

Knotch turned his head to meet the Turk's eyes, surprised.

"Sector 2…lived in Lower Figaro, right at the height of the gang wars with the Corpse Brigade in Gollund."

At this Knotch removed the cigarette from his mouth, which promptly fell open into an expression of utter shock. Reno looked at him, almost amused by the response.

"You? You grew up in Figaro?"

Reno nodded.

"Lived there until I was eight. My mother was killed in a gang attack, got caught in the crossfire I guess, it happened a lot back then. My old man got a job with Shinra eventually and we could afford a decent place on the Plate. He hated the Slums, and everyone in them, said the people of the slums were stupid and dirty and every other insult under the sun. He was a cynical old bastard, didn't want to be like him at all as a kid. Guess I ended up being more like him than I thought." He said, lips pulling into a wry smile. Knotch turned his head away to gaze out at the wasteland once more, mouth still agape.

"Fuck me…" He murmured. "Lower Figaro huh…and here I had you pinned as one of those well-to-do Plate dwellers."

Reno smirked.

"And what if I was? They aren't all pompous rich bigwigs, y'know."

Knotch scratched his chin. Reno rather thought he looked uncomfortable. It surprised him, how he felt no satisfaction at finally having the man on the defensive.

"I suppose that's true." Knotch conceded at last. "Seems for all my experience I'm as guilty of being presumptuous as anybody else."

"Think we're all guilty of that." Reno replied.

Another dull thud resounded behind them, accompanied by a distinct, screeching cry. Reno stood up and turned to face the sector gate, watching as his partner walked through, leading a large vivid gold bird after him by the reigns. He could tell from Rude's sagging shoulders that the bird had been something of a handful, though Rude never was good with Chocobos. The bird followed him willingly enough, however, and came to a stop beside the car, which looked diminutive next to the majestic creature. Knotch hopped off the bonnet, dropping his cigarette and stamping it out with his boot, the wizened skin around his eyes crinkling as he looked the bird up and down, scrutinising every aspect of its appearance.

"She's not seen enough of the sun, this one." He growled. Rude glared at the grey haired man over the rims of his sunglasses.

"Just take the damn thing." He grumbled in response, handing Knotch the reigns.

"I still can't believe these things fucking exist." Reno said, shoving his hands in his pocket as he looked the golden feathered Chocobo over.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Knotch spoke as he stroked the back of the bird's neck; it closed its eyes in lazy approval. "She'll look even better once she gets a bit of fresh air and some decent food, won't ya girl?" He finished with a pat of the bird's strong spine.

"The hell do you want with a golden one anyway? Wouldn't a regular one have done for travelling?"

Knotch grinned.

"You ever hear tell of the Desert Rose?" He asked, looking first at Reno who shook his head, and then to Rude who did the same. "It's this rose that's said to grow in the Corel Desert, the only life in a land of lifelessness. Now, the Corel Desert ain't lifeless by any means, full of monsters, and if they don't kill ya the heat will. So I need this Chocobo to find these special materia, Master Materia they're called. They're meant to be naturally occurring materia that are ridiculously powerful, more powerful than any other regular materia. I reckon with those I can journey right into the heart of that desert and find my rose." He explained as he hoisted himself onto the Chocobo's back.

"Chasing fairytales?" Reno asked, a smile forming on his lips. Knotch grinned, looking out at the wasteland ahead of him.

"Look at this place, not a bit of life for miles. People are so determined to leave a mark on the world they don't notice the scars they leave in the process. But imagine if a single rose bloomed here, in somewhere as dead as these wastes? That'd be a good one to tell tales of."

He turned back to face them, still grinning.

"No hard feelings I hope, lads. I know you Turk lads are more for pushing buttons than for having them pushed."

At this Reno erupted into laughter. If only Knotch knew how timely that comment was, he might express something other than mild confusion at the Turk's off-kilter amusement.

"Goodluck with your travelling, old man." Reno said at last, composing himself.

Knotch stared at him, a hardness in his eyes, and no sign of his usual humour on his face. Reno stared back, ignoring the prickle in his gut.

"You're not a bad fellow, for a Turk." He said, before turning to look out at the horizon. "Not bad at all." And with that he kicked his heels against the Chocobo's sides and set off, the bird trotting at a light pace towards Kalm. They watched him go, bouncing to and fro atop the creature's back. Rude stepped forward and pulled his gun from inside his jacket, a C-96, and made to aim at the shrinking figure a few hundred yards ahead. Reno raised a hand to stop him.

"Let him go Rude."

His partner looked at him, a silent question coming from those shaded eyes.

"A lot of the time I tell myself we do what we do for the greater good, y'know. That we really aren't that bad…like he said. But he's gotten me thinking, about what I think about myself and everyone else. And with what we're gonna do now, drop a Plate on top of thousands of people, just to get rid of one small group…I'm starting to wonder."

He received no response from Rude, and so continued, turning back towards his car.

"I wonder, when he tells this story to other people, and figures out what I've done, will he still think I'm not one of the bad guys?"

Rude holstered his gun with a sigh.

"At least I don't have to catch that damn bird." He muttered. Reno chuckled.

"I'm gonna catch up to him some day, and see how he tells the story. See if he hates my guts for misleading him...or will he understand why I did it? How I felt about it?"

"Do what you have to do." Rude replied, and Reno smiled. Rude knew better than to argue with him when he was in pensive mood.

"You're taking the heat from Tseng though." He said as he turned to open the passenger door. Reno shrugged.

"Relax." He replied as he plopped into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Tseng's not gonna care, not like giving him the bird's ever going to come back to haunt us."

He turned the car to the left and, with a final look out the window at the receding figure of the man and his Chocobo, sped off towards the highway, with that damned prickling arising in his stomach once more. He'd long since realised what it was, though he couldn't quite bring himself to admit the truth of the little trickle of emotion.

Turks aren't supposed to feel shame.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** The entirety of this fic was basically a word dump to get me back into the swing of writing again. Considering it was written some ten months ago, I'd say it succeeded entirely in failing to achieve that goal. Primarily I wanted to focus on snappy and entertaining, pulp-fiction esque dialogue with this, so any feedback on that would be greatly appreciated. The plot is thinner than a marathon runner, and exists purely to facilitate the dialogue writing. Realistically this fic shouldn't have seen the light of day, but eh, fuck it. I wrote a thing, might as well publish it.
> 
> Feedback, constructive, deconstructive, destructive and all other manner of "-uctives" is greatly appreciated. Thanks for taking the time to read and peace and good health to ya.
> 
> Kev


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